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Unholy Marriage

Did you ever hear the story about the Kiwi who tried to get into the Kangaroo's pouch? Beggars can't be choosers but mixed marriage is absolutely out of the question. I ask you, would you let your daughter marry one of them bounders?

Oh, yes, the story. It went something like this. One day the Kiwi was drinking at the local, feel ing pretty down and under, when who should swagger in but a cocky Kangaroo with a pouch full of Fosters. "Holy Malcolm Fraser!" said the Kiwi, "he needs the piss taken out of him." Unfortunately, at this stage, the Kiwi's brain became cloudy with that dreaded local disease known as 'Kiwi ingenuity'. "Now," said the Kiwi, sensing his chance to do a bit of free-loading, "wouldn't it be more neighbourly to ride along in his pouch?"

So the Kiwi sauntered over to the Kangaroo, and looking him straight in the eye said, "How do you say 'fish and chips'?" "Feesh 'n' cheeps," belched the Kangaroo. The Kiwi fled back to his corner aghast at such a faux pas. But his cries fell upon unsuperphosphated ground. "Quieten him with a can of Fosters," said the barman.

'I'll compromise myself just this once and give it another go," thought the Kiwi. So he snuck back up to the Kangaroo and said, "What do you think of Roger Gascoigne?" "Poofta!"said the Kangaroo. "Call me Trev," said the Kiwi; "Me name's Bruce," replied the Kangaroo', "what can I do for ya?" "Well it's like this," said the Kiwi, "times are tough and I'm having a bit of trouble with me balancing act. Then there's the gangs, the druggies, the strikes, the farmers, the teachers, not to mention full frontal nudity on the tele. Gimme a break, mate — how- about if I hop into your pouch?" "No worries mate," said the Kangaroo," but what can you do for me?" handing the Kiwi another Fosters. "Well there's plenty of forests to mill, lakes to dam and gas to bum, and we could send you milk-biscuits when you have droughts." "And your industry?" "Oh there's not much to speak of, we're all peasants here — womb to tomb, and with the government's encouragement of light industry, life's a breeze no matter what those whinging fanners make out."

"I dunno how you're gonna go in the desert and in the mines then," said the Kangaroo, "still, mostly your peasant types that are here are out there now. And your police don't even have guns. My, what innocent lambs you are. Just wait till we unleash our pet Fraser down here."

"But please, no snakes," said the Kiwi.

"No worries mate," said the Kangaroo. "Gough Whitlam's good 'n' finished."

By this time the Kiwi was feeling very dizzy. "I bags be Prime Minister," he said. But the Kangaroo just handed him another Fosters, saying, "we'll play spin the bottle for that." So they spun the bottle, "I'm it," said the Kangaroo. "Right, since I'm bigger it'll be proportional representation, none of your horsey systems here mate," he continued, giving the Kiwi another can of Fosters. At this point the Kiwi's doublevision failed him and he fell down onto the floor and said "Oh please. Kangaroo, I've read all about unbridled power, so at least make Richard Prebble vice." "No worries mate," said the Kangaroo, "Pebble about sums you guys up. We'll make you a southern territory and call it Bondi- onSpec.

"And while we're at it," he said giving him another can, "why don't we get in the family way Asian-wise and have us an Empire. For a start we could round-up those boat people to boost the slave trade.

The Kiwi, who was having trouble getting back onto his barstool, whimpered, "you can do anything, Kangaroo, but please don't give me another can of Fosters." So the Kangaroo gave the Kiwi another can of Fosters (which the Kiwi accidentally drank). "There's just one last thing, said the Kangaroo, vomiting all over the Kiwi, "we play Aussie rules." And reader, this was the final crunch. The Kiwi fell into a swoon, but was revived with a can of Fosters, whereupon he squeaked, "Rugby's one thing where only Kiwi rules count." "You hateful little vermin — are you gonna step outside?" taunted the Kangaroo. But the Kiwi got right back onto his bar-stool. And I'm sure, reader, you are quite familiar with what happens when a Kiwi does an Aussie in the pub. Every story has to have a punch-line doesn't it? A Kangaroo, as only a Kiwi is foolish enough to forget, is a fearsome boxer and so saying, the Kangaroo knocked the Kiwi right back to his little island from whence he never dared venture again.

Richard Riddiford